


Tiger of the Thunder

by Goldscythe (Darial_Kuznetsova)



Category: Beyblade
Genre: Beyblade original series, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darial_Kuznetsova/pseuds/Goldscythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wished to see the legendary Tiger of Thunder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiger of the Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be an original story for English class back in the days, but it turned out to be fitting for Beyblade.

I’m looking for it. I've always been looking for it. Even though I shouldn't. Even though it’s too dangerous. Every stormy night, I go out and look for it. I wish I could see it once. Just a tiny glimpse. Even a miniature one.

I hear it growl, but when I go out, I see nothing. It’s still hidden from me.

It’s supposed to be a myth, but when I was a child, I saw the tip of its tail disappear behind the corner. That was the moment I became fascinated by it, but those around me claim it’s an obsession. If it is, then I’m happy to be obsessed.

 

So here I sit again, on the porch or my house and listening to the approaching storm. I can see the lightning splitting the sky in two over and over again. I wait for its arrival. Of the thunder and its mystical creation with it. I try to define the term ‘obsessed’ as I’m sitting here and waiting, but I don’t find anything proper way to define my infatuation as an obsession. But it still is an obsession.

I look up at the black clouds that cover the sky above me. I just wish to see it, so that I could have the peace. That I finally could sleep through the storms like I used to, until that one day.

That day, the storm woke me up. The roar of the thunder sounded so much like tiger’s roar. I got up from my bed and walked to the porch on my sleeping clothes, barefoot. I saw something, like a tip of a tail, disappear behind the gateway and in my confused mind, I recalled the old stories my grandmother used to tell me. About the Tiger of the Thunder. It was a white tiger, but it was made of lightning bolts, they formed the body of the monstrous animal that once was a real being of the Earth.

The Gods turned the most beautiful white tiger of the world into a cat of lightning. Was it a curse or a blessing, it is unknown, but when the thunderstorm shakes the surface of the Earth with rage, the Tiger returns to wander on it, leaving scorched paw prints in its wake. I never feared it like my siblings did. And after I saw the tail, I knew I had to see that beautiful creature.

I hear that roar as clearly as when I was but a child and I look back down, standing up quickly. It didn't come from the confines of my memory. Something white and something bright is shining on the hill some distance away. Without a thought I sprint towards it. It doesn't move away, it just stays beneath the burning tree.

My lungs burn as they demand more air while I run like a madman towards the hill. The grass is slippery from the constant rain, the downpour. The air gets hotter and the rain is almost steam immediately as it hits the burning old oak. And I stop.

I stop and I stare the creature of light and destruction, beautiful and dangerous at the same time. Perhaps there was a shooting star above the thick clouds. Those thousands, tens of thousands of volts coursing as its blood, fur and bones illuminate the hill so brightly, that I’m almost blinded. It looks at me, calmly and I stare it back, anxious. It growls again and the sound that is like music from the distance is deafening. But I stand my ground.

Tiger comes closer, but I don’t move an inch. It walks around me once and I feel the electricity almost piercing my body as it radiates from the powerful being. The tail curls and uncurls a little as it walks back, burning the wet grass beneath the large, mighty paws. The White Tiger of the Thunder lets out a roar and it is pulled back to the clouds, the light blinding me and all I see is white.

When they keep asking what happened, keep crying over my now completely white, blind eyes, I just smile. I finally saw it and I couldn’t have asked anything less to be my last sight on this Earth. It’s burned to my eyes forever as the last and permanent sight of my life. And I wouldn’t change it. Never. I have the peace now that I know, that the creature of the myths is true, that the Gods took the most beautiful creature of the Earth to be their divine messenger.

My plea was heard. The Gods gave me peace in the form of the White Tiger. The Tiger of the Thunder. When I hear the storm roar outside, I always see it looking into my eyes. The myth and the legend keep living on as long as there is someone there to tell them about it.


End file.
